The Divine Hunter

Weirdly enough, the moment Acamuthorm left the great hall, the children whispering in the courtyard quickly fell silent, as if they’d seen some terrifying beast. Before he said anything, they darted into their dorms like frightened cats. The hardy pinewood door slammed into the frame, and someone locked the door from within. A few kids looked outside the window, sneaking fearful glances.

Acamuthorm was standing beside Lebioda’s statue, and he grinned. Miffed, he touched his face. He’d never been so feared by anyone before. Not on his journeys. Thinking this was just some mistake, he went to the window and whipped out a few pieces of pork jerkies from his pouch and said hello to the kids, but that only made them react more violently. The kids shrank into the darkness in fear and stopped breathing.

“What’s going on?” Acamuthorm turned around, looking annoyed, and then his eyes shone. In the stables not far from him, a girl seemed to have been separated from her companions. She was crouching behind the head of a brown horse, unmoving, as if she were playing hide and seek with the witcher.

Unbeknownst to her, Wilt had sold her out. Its tail was spinning like rotor blades, telling the young witcher that a child was hiding around it. Acamuthorm walked on his tiptoes and stood beside the bucket filled with water. Through the side of the horse’s neck, he observed the girl. She was about fifteen years old and slender, her clothes made of cotton. They were gray and patched up, and the girl was half a head shorter than Acamuthorm. She was about five-foot-five, and her hair was dry, golden, and short. A few braids decorated her head, and a green headband was tied around her forehead, giving her a hint of heroism.

Her features were beautiful, and her eyes were dark brown. Her nose was aquiline, and her lips were not big or small. She looked a bit like Falka, though this girl had a more prominent outline, felt more mature, and her skin wasn’t as refined.

Falka is probably on Skellige, taking lessons from Yennefer and Roy.

The girl didn’t notice the commotion in the courtyard. She was immersed in breathing near the horse’s nose and patting its mane. A frustrated Wilt was snorting, shaking its head. If Roy hadn’t trained it to sharply sense threats from any incoming entity, it’d have kicked this cheeky girl away a long time ago.

Acamuthorm cocked his eyebrow.

“Hey.”

The girl looked up, and she tensed up. She gasped and quickly held her right hand before her chest, then she pulled out half a bat from her left boot. The girl curled up defensively.

Acamuthorm looked annoyed. Only people attacked by drowners make that kind of face. Am I that scary? “Calm down, girl. I’m not a bad guy. I won’t hurt you.” Acamuthorm straightened out his fringe, collar, and sleeves. He forced a smile and handed a piece of pork jerky to the girl. “I come in peace. I just want to make a friend.”

The girl stared at the witcher, wide-eyed, for half a minute. She stared at his face and flat belly for a long time, as if she wanted to confirm something. Coldly, she asked, “Who are you?”

“Acamuthorm, a kind witcher. I’ve rid this temple of the monsters lurking within, free of charge. Just to help you poor children.”

“Don’t call me girl, witcher. I have a name. Angouleme. You talk a big talk, and you claim to have gotten rid of that howling monster?” The girl stared at the pork jerky the witcher was holding, her eyes filled with desire, but she licked her lips and held her desire down, then she forced herself to look away.

“From now on, you can sleep easy. This is my gift for the temple’s children. Do you like it?”

Angouleme didn’t answer. She remained crouched, and she puffed her cheeks like a squirrel, blowing at the horse’s nose.

Ungrateful brat, Acamuthorm thought. He popped the jerky into his mouth and chewed loudly. “Ah, it’s good. What are you doing to Wilt?”

Angouleme gulped and widened her eyes. Seriously, she said, “Haven’t you heard? Blow at a horse’s nose, and it’ll stay loyal to you for life. But you have to stay really close and get its trust patiently.”

“Where’d you hear that kind of horse taming tip? Weird.” Acamuhorm smiled. This girl was interesting. At least she was more interesting than the scaredy cats who hid the moment they saw him. “Roy’s steed is loyal. It’ll never be bought. Will you turn your back on Roy, Wilt?”

Wilt grinned toothily, gnashing its teeth. It sprayed the girl’s face with its drool and turned away in disdain, obviously trying to say it wanted to have nothing to do with Angouleme. Angouleme was deadpan, wiping the drool off her face. She kept blowing on the horse’s nose, and Acamuthorm could hear her whistling.

“Alright, stop harassing the horse. It’s just a waste of time. So what if you somehow gain Wilt’s loyalty? What can you do?”

Angouleme said nothing. Acamuthorm looked at her quietly. A few moments later, he sighed in resignation and changed his question. “Why are your friends so scared of me?”

Angouleme pursed her lips, hesitating for a moment. Then, like an annoying brat, she said, “Haven’t you looked into the mirror? Amber eyes, vertical pupils, ears and nose pointy enough to stab someone. Of course you’re scary.”

She has a short fuse and a sharp tongue. Acamuthorm’s lips twitched. “Why aren’t you scared of me? Why didn’t you run?”

“I’m terrified.” The girl’s lips shivered. “But your legs are so long, and you have weapons, and your eyes are like a cat’s,” she said. It sounded like she was talking about Acamuthorm, but she was looking into empty air. Her voice was barely a whisper.

Acamuthorm thought she was talking nonsense at first, but then he realized she was hiding a message in there somewhere. “And your noses are… as strong as a dog’s. You have fangs and claws and run faster than a horse. I can’t escape. Where can I even go?” she muttered, a little manic. The rims of her eyes went red, then she sniffled and rubbed her eyes.

“At this rate, you’ll be making me out to be a god. So tell me, you want to ride Wilt and get out of this temple, don’t you? Is there something in here that scares you?” Acamuthorm asked quietly.

Angouleme kept blowing, ignoring him. The witcher wasn’t discouraged. He had found out some ways to talk with this weird girl. He took the ragdoll out and swayed it in front of Angouleme. “Have you seen this thing before?”

That gleaned a reaction. Suppressed agony and guilt filled the girl’s face, as if she was repenting for something too painful to even think of, but then she regained her composure. “No. The temple’s poor. We don’t have coins for toys.”

“You lie.”

The witcher’s answer made the girl shiver.

“Forgot to tell you, but we found this ragdoll by a corpse.” Acamuthorm was staring at the girl’s face. He confirmed that no one could hear them and he lowered his voice. “She was buried in the cellar. No older than twelve years old when she died. And we found the remains of another girl similar in age. They died in pain. A big feline tore their skin and bones, and a terrifying spider caught them in its web, sucking their flesh and blood clean like vampires. They were tormented and died with rage, so they haunted the temple to find their killers.”

Angouleme turned the color of a headstone. She stopped blowing on the horse and gripped the doll tightly, her knuckles getting white.

“Daisy claims she has no idea who the victims are, nor has she ever seen any big cats or spiders barging into the temple. Everything is the remnant of the last priestess’ management. They’ve only been here for six months. You’ve been here for longer. You know the truth, don’t you? Answer me honestly. Help me find the killers, and the dead will really rest in peace.”

Angouleme quietly wrapped her arms around the horse’s neck. She hung her head low, shivering, as if she were holding back an overflowing emotion. That unexpected reaction showed Acamuthorm the black, web-shaped tattoo on Angouleme’s wrist. And he saw a row of small pincers.

Black words were written in a corner of the web, and this time, the witcher saw what it was. It was written in common speech.

Grayba.

Grayba the Black. Acamuthorm froze. Daisy had that tattoo on her back as well. Does it have a special meaning? “Angouleme, what’s that pattern on your hand?”

As if electrified, the girl quickly pulled her sleeve down.

“You won’t answer? Scared? Is someone threatening you? Tell me. I just want to help.”

Angouleme put her hands on her hips and spat on the ground. Her eyes were gleaming with fury, and she roared in hysteria, “Help me? You think I’m a kid? We’re barely acquainted. Why would you help me? I’ve seen too many people who never walk their talk. They’re perverts. Depraved and mad. No one can be trusted.” She was like a hurt little hedgehog. Fiercely, she said, “Leave. Don’t try to lie to me.”

Acamuthorm frowned. He couldn’t understand why the girl was so sensitive and quick to anger. He stopped fooling around and said honestly, “Why? You think I like to butt into business that’s not mine? It’s all because you look like my friend. She has silver hair, and her eyes are green as lush spring. She’s not like you, unlucky enough to be trapped in a freezing temple, starving and without any good clothes.” He turned around and looked at the room the priestess was in.

“She used to attend a rural school in Novigrad. Everyone gets along well there, and we help one another. We can learn how to read and write, and we can play as much as we want. Falka’s my good friend, and you look like her. If I ignore you, she’d grumble about it.”

Acamuthorm smiled. “And according to witchers, the meeting between people is a sign of destiny. Destiny led me here, to solve your problem. If you can help me find the monster, I swear I’ll free you and your friends from your predicament. No one can threaten or hurt you.”

Angouleme took a deep breath. She tried to say something, but then her features stiffened up. She had a vacant look in her eyes, and her pupils dilated. “No. Daisy’s right. We’ve seen no lynxes or spiders. They never came to this temple.”

“Angouleme?” Acamuthorm stared at the girl behind the horse. She was blinking.

A long silence ensued.

“Stop hounding me. I told you, I don’t know.” The manic girl’s chest was heaving, and her cheeks turned red. She tossed the doll over to the witcher’s feet. “If you have so many questions, ask the doll,” she roared.

Reluctantly, she smacked the horse’s neck, saying goodbye to it, then she ran out of the stables, leaving rows of footprints behind. She banged on the dorm’s doors.

Acamuthorm and Wilt exchanged a look. The witcher picked up the dirty ragdoll, musing. Behind him, bald Rumachi approached slowly. He sniffed the air and had a look of disdain and fear on his face, then he put on a stiff smile.

***

***

62d67767f92eb560e77c9100